A Missive From Deepest Siberia

Day 1

Drank something in a bottle I found on the ground behind the local "glass pipe" shop. Everything went fuzzy for a while, and I woke up on a bus next to a bearded man wearing yak skin. At least, that's what he told me it was. He looked a little stabby, so I didn't question it. I wonder where the bus is going?

Day 4

Yellowknife, Alaska. Great.

Day 9

There are some decent dumpsters here. I'm not really sure what to do with the seal parts, though. I'm assuming that's what they are, anyway.

Day 10

Pretty hungry. Those seal parts are looking pretty tasty.

Day 32

Don't eat the green seal parts. Not sure where I am now. Have been chased for the last several weeks by angry gnomes shouting at me to give them back their wooden legs. Found some toothpicks in my vest, but they weren't interested. Currently trying to keep gnomes away and avoid being eaten by bears. Bindlestick is filled with pine cones for some reason. Not really very helpful.

Day 35

Getting pretty hungry. Might try licking my bindlestick kerchief for sustenance.

Day 57

Crap. Siberia. Have discovered that gulag is not a kind of soup.

HoboTV

It has come to my attention that the world needs more reality TV shows. It has also occurred to me that the hobo is severely underrepresented on the national airwaves. Therefore, I have decided to "shop around" my idea, which I have tentatively titled "Who Wants to Lick a Hobo?"

I'm thinking that it'll be like The Bachelor, but with medical personnel standing by in case of infection. There could be little games to weed out the weak...like "Would You Eat That?", "Build a Lint Fort" and "Bindlestick Beatdown". Maybe we could even do a "Fingerless Glove Fashion Show"! Or a documentary about how rat is the lobster of the ghetto! The possibilities are endless!

June Verdict: Not Too Shabby

It's been a busy month! I turned 33! This did not bother me. The grey hairs on my head, in my nose, and on my nipple (how rude) do not bother me. The fact that I'm closer to exiting the 28-35 section of the demographic does not bother me. Hell, I'm not even bothered by the fact that my Dad was 33 when I was born. My biological clock is not ticking. No, the thing that bothers me is that my body is starting to protest. Not much, just a little bit, but it's noticeable.

For example, my right shoulder has always been problematic. As EVERYONE I KNOW can attest to, it's prone to crack like a gunshot at the slightest provocation. Now it's getting crankier and doing it at even MORE inopportune times. I was at Starbucks a while back, ordering my drink. I reach back to pull out my wallet, and BANG - my shoulder announces its presence. The girl behind the counter, I kid you not, jumped a little, then said "Daaaaaang", while giving me the googly eye, maybe wondering if my arm was going to fall off or something. I could only grin weakly, make a crack about AARP, and shuffled away to a corner to await my daily dose of sweet caffeinated chocolatey nectar.

I've discovered that I can't really ignore my body as much as I used to. I can't, for example, hold a 7 pound camera up to my eyeball for 8 hours straight and expect to NOT be in a significant amount of pain the next day. I should probably work out or something. Can't I just drink smoothies instead? Smoothies are good for you, right?

In other news, my partner and I shot a wedding earlier this month, and it was loads of fun. I took 3610 photos, which is sort of a mind-boggling number. On the one hand, it's good that I didn't miss much, but on the other hand, NOW I HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL OF THEM.

Oh, and I got a little pal for my birthday. On the evening of my birthday, The Girl huffed and puffed her way up three flights of stairs, rang my doorbell, and handed me a huge box. Turns out it was a three story rat cage!

I've wanted a rat for a while now, but I kept putting it off because it seemed like it was a bit too soon. But Maisie died almost exactly 2 years ago, and she'd probably give me a stern look if she knew I was holding off on getting another little critter because of her. So now I have a little Blue Rat named Biscuit to keep me company. Here's a little video of her I shot yesterday:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=cwtGNcErC_o

Finally, I've been housebound for the last 5 days. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I was either poked or bitten (or both) on my feet by something I was severely allergic to. And by "severely allergic to", I mean that I couldn't even wear shoes, and had to clean open, blistery wounds, and take antibiotics as a precaution. I couldn't walk without my skin breaking. I still have no idea what it was that got me - I suspect that it happened while I was crashing through the brush on a hill by the beach on the day of the wedding. Next time, I'm wearing my boots!

And now I need to get back to processing photos. I'll leave you with a little slideshow I put together a few days ago. Half of the photos are mine, half of 'em are Rekabek's. All of 'em are pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.

http://redbatphotography.com/saraandmatt/

On Annoyingly Erroneous Bumper Stickers

You know, usually I'm all about taking it easy and not letting things bother me. I'm not a party pooper or a killjoy. But I got really annoyed yesterday. By a bumper sticker.

It read "If you're so Goth, where were you when we sacked Byzantium?"

Ha ha, right?

NO.

Allow me to put on my Pedantic History Nerd Hat for a moment. First of all, the Goths (either the Ostrogoths OR the Visigoths) never sacked "Byzantium". They sacked ROME, and they did it in 410 AD. By that time, "Byzantium" didn't even exist, as it had been known as "New Rome", or Constantinople since around 330 AD, when Emperor Constantine I built a new city around ancient Byzantium, which was founded sometime around 660 B.C.

Secondly, Constantinople wasn't sacked until nearly a millenium after the fall of Rome, when the Fourth Crusade came a'knocking in 1203. It can't even be said that Goths had anything to do with that sacking, either, as the Fourth Crusade was comprised mostly of Venetians, Flemish, and the French.

In conclusion, it is a stupid bumper sticker, I am a huge nerd, and anyone visiting Constantinople immediately after 1203 would probably have seen something like this:

Not Dead!

To prove it, I made you a mixtape:

And a slideshow!

See? Dead hoboes don't make mixtapes or slideshows*!



*except maybe Zombie Hoboes. They might.

Hobo Lessons

Dear person who found my site by typing "how to become a hobo" into Google,

What are you thinking? First of all, WHY? Second of all, it's not really that hard. Take one (1) human unable (or unwilling) to deal with normal societal things like:

- Hygiene
- Haircuts
- Beardcuts
- The willpower to realize that leaves are NOT government/alien listening devices
- Etc.

Mix well with alchohol/amphetamines/aquanet/insecticide/all of the above, let simmer in a field/dumpster/alley, allow weeds/chicken bones/spaghetti to accumulate in beard, release back into society with bongos/banjo/didgeridoo with a container of some sort for coin accumulation, and voilà! You've got yourself a hobo.

Should I be charging for this?

P.S.: The girl and I went to a beach I know of a few days ago, close to sunset, after a storm. After slogging through half a mile of mud to get to the beach, we looked back and saw this:

To Meme or not to Meme...

Hey, I've never met a meme I didn't like (except for the one that instructed me to shout "Surrey with a fringe on top!" three times in the middle of a leather bar), and Rekabek tagged me, so what the hell!

The rule is to pick up the nearest book, flip to page 123, skip to the 5th sentence, and type that sentence and the following two:

"Pulse hammering, she thumped the release plate and swung it open manually, then dived through into the public right-of-way with its faded green carpet and turquoise walls. It was dim in the hallway, the main lights dialed down to signify twilight, and apart from a couple of maintenance 'bots, she had the passage to herself. She began to walk, a black haze of frustration and anger wrapped tightly around her like a cloak."

That's from the book Iron Sunrise by Charles Stross. Highly recommended.

Coming up next, a brief tale of the dinner party, the homeless-by-choice Russian-born massage therapist and lifestyle coach, the administrative assistant at the Tantric Temple, and the really excellent pasta salad.

Oh, and I tag Space Nakji, Fluid Pudding, and whoever the hell else wants to do this. Compliance is not compulsory.